


bark less, wag more

by inlovewithnight



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Puppy Play, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re descending back into Dallas, Jordie’s body already braced for the bump of the wheels and the sharp deceleration down the tarmac, when Jamie leans in close and mumbles in his ear. “Hey, could we do the thing, tomorrow?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	bark less, wag more

They’re descending back into Dallas, Jordie’s body already braced for the bump of the wheels and the sharp deceleration down the tarmac, when Jamie leans in close and mumbles in his ear. “Hey, could we do the thing, tomorrow?”

Jordie blinks at him, exhausted and confused. The thing. “Could you be a little more specific?”

Jamie flushes deep, so red he’s just about purple in the dim cabin light, and shifts back into his own seat. “Never mind.”

“Dude—” The wheels hit and Jordie is not at all prepared anymore, so his teeth click together painfully and he lurches forward. “Ah, shit.”

The impact does shake something loose in his brain, though, and he reaches over to bump his knuckles against Jamie’s thigh. “The _thing_ , the thing. Yeah. We can do that.”

Jamie looks at him from the corner of his eye, and Jordie’s too tired to analyze every twitch of Jamie’s facial expressions but he seems to relax at least a little bit. “You sure?”

“Any time, you know that.” He catches Jamie’s trousers and a fold of skin between two knuckles and pinches hard. “It’s a good off-day thing to do.”

“You pinch me again you’re gonna regret it,” Jamie mutters, but he’s sitting up straight and he’s not so red anymore, so things are okay.

**

Jordie sleeps hard and late, and what finally wakes him up is a solid, rhythmic thumping against his door. It’s a pretty slow rhythm— _thump_ , a three or four second pause, _thump_ —but insistent. He can’t fall back asleep now that it’s stirred him awake.

He hauls himself out of bed and goes to open the door, knowing what he’ll find. Sure enough, Jamie’s standing in the hallway, messy-haired and bleary-eyed, shifting his weight to make another run at hitting his shoulder on the door with a heavy _thump_. He catches himself and blinks at Jordie, shifting to face him properly instead of sideways. He doesn’t say anything, but Jordie can’t miss the air of expectation. Waiting.

Juice is sitting at Jamie’s feet, gazing up at both of them in endless doggy patience. Jamie must have taken care of him first thing, before he let himself start to let go. Jordie had been worried, at first, that adopting Juice would screw this up, that maybe a dog wouldn’t be able to deal with someone who was sometimes a person and sometimes kind of a dog, too. But Juice was awesome and just kinda went with it.

“Hey, buddy boys,” Jordie says, rubbing his face with one hand and holding the other one down for Juice to sniff. Jamie huffs, a burst of air from his throat with half a grunt behind it, and lunges in, rubbing his face against Jordie’s shoulder. “Easy,” Jordie warns, catching his balance and bringing the hand that isn’t being slobbered on up to rumple Jamie’s hair. “Don’t be rough. It’s too early.”

Jamie huffs again and shoves his face against Jordie’s throat, breathing in deep for a moment, then turns and hurries away down the hall. Jordie rubs Juice’s ears for a moment before he follows, finding Jamie in the kitchen staring fixedly at the refrigerator.

“You fed Juice but not yourself, huh?” It’s not a question, really. That’s how Jamie does this. He takes care of Juice, because Juice needs it, but he wants Jordie to take care of _him_ , and he’s not going to do anything for himself unless he absolutely has to. And Jordie won’t put him in a lot of situations where he has to, because Jordie likes doing this, too. He likes taking some of the weight off Jamie and just letting him be.

Jamie looks at him out of the corner of his eye and whines hopefully. Jordie sighs and points at the table. “Go sit. Stay.”

It’s too rough on Jamie’s hips and knees to spend all day crawling and kneeling, so they have to make do. He hurries over to the table and sits down in one of the chairs, still whining low in his throat and watching Jordie with anxious eyes. Juice settles in on the floor under his chair, staring up at him in puzzlement.

Jordie opens the refrigerator and frowns at the contents until he settles on the pan of breakfast casserole. It only lasts about two days between the two of them; leftovers do not have a long lifespan at their house. He divides what’s left into two bowls and pops them both in the microwave, ignoring Jamie’s ongoing little whines. He’s hungry. Jordie’s hungry, too. Jamie has to be patient to be rewarded, has to be a good boy. That’s the rule and they both know it.

When the microwave dings Jordie takes the bowls out, stirring the casserole and breaking it up to cool it. Jamie burned his mouth and his lips eating like a puppy once; it had been miserable and awful and Jordie felt terrible for days. Jamie hurting as a person is whiny and irritating to balance out making Jordie worry. Jamie hurting as a puppy is just upsetting.

Jamie whines louder, just barely not breaking into a bark, and Jordie shoots a stern look across the kitchen. Jamie’s eyes are wide, his lips parted, his tongue poking out a little bit. He’s panting. Jordie takes him in for a minute, decoding his body language. It’s just like when Juice is sitting still but straining at the leash, whole body quivering with the effort it takes to be good when he _wants_.

But Jamie’s making the effort, he’s trying so hard to be good, and of course Jordie’s going to reward him.

He brings both bowls to the table, setting the one with a spoon in it aside and placing the other in front of Jamie before gently ruffling Jamie’s hair. “Good boy. You waited so patient and good.”

Jamie wiggles in his seat, frantically wagging the tail he doesn’t have. He turns his head to lick Jordie’s wrist, and Jordie laughs, pulling his hand away and snapping his fingers. 

“Go ahead and eat,” he says, and Jamie dives in, pushing his face into the bowl. He snorts and coughs and makes snuffling noises while he eats, which is objectively kind of gross and subjectively, to Jordie, fucking adorable. No dignity, no worry, just lost in going after what he wants. Jordie likes seeing Jamie like this. He likes giving him this.

When Jordie sits down Juice crawls across the floor to lie under Jordie’s chair, gazing up at him wide-eyed with his tail thumping on the floor. “You don’t get people food,” Jordie tells him, rubbing Juice’s belly with one foot. He has to be careful to keep his attention evenly divided between them—Jamie gets jealous—but right now Jamie is distracted with breakfast. 

Jordie knows when Jamie finishes, because he makes a louder snuffling sound, clears his throat, and then licks the bowl clean before casually knocking it onto the floor. “Bad puppy,” Jordie says around a mouthful of food. “Don’t make a mess.”

Jamie looks at him for a moment, eyes narrowed and considering, then gets out of his seat and comes to Jordie’s side. He shoves his face against Jordie’s shoulder, nuzzling and breathing hot against his neck, and Jordie allows it for a minute because it’s sweet, right up until he realizes that Jamie is also wiping his food-covered face all over Jordie’s shirt.

“No,” Jordie says, pushing him back. “Sit. Dammit.”

Jamie rocks back on his heels and stands still, his shoulders slumping and his eyes going wide and uncertain again. Jordie bites back a sigh and rubs his hand over his face. Not off to a very good start. He’s making Jamie feel bad and he has egg and cheese smeared from his shoulder to his beard.

“Okay,” he says, standing up and collecting both bowls and his fork. “C’mon, boys. Both of you. Juice, Jamie. Come.”

They follow him to the kitchen, where he puts the dishes in the sink and runs water over them, then wets a paper towel and wipes Jamie’s face. Juice sits and wags and Jamie watches Jordie warily until Jordie reaches into one of the cabinets and pulls out a bag of beef jerky. Then they both surge forward eagerly, Juice bumping against his legs and Jamie muscling him back against the counter.

“No, _no_ ,” Jordie says again, raising his voice. “Sit!” Once they do (Juice’s butt on the floor and Jamie still standing but his weight back on his heels and _holding still_ , for fuck’s sake), he makes them wait while he wets another paper towel and cleans himself up. They’re both open-mouthed and panting at him, eyes bright and eager, Juice drooling a little and Jamie shifting back and forth on his feet. They’re pretty goddamn cute, his boys, even when they’re being naughty.

He gives them each two pieces of jerky and pets their heads, rumpling Juice’s ears and Jamie’s hair. “Good boys. I know you can be patient. You try really hard, eh? Just get excited sometimes.”

They follow him back to his bedroom, where he gets dressed and then goes to get the play day bag out of his closet. Jamie’s collar is right at the top, resting on his toys and the blanket they used to use when they were young and flexible and uninjured and Jamie could actually sleep on the floor without being stiff and sore the next day. Now they keep it out of nostalgia more than anything, and for cuddling on the couch if Jamie’s having a really rough day.

Jamie edges closer when he sees the bag, using his thighs and ass to bump Juice out of the way and keep him there, like he’s guarding him on the ice. Jordie takes the collar out, zips the bag closed, and tosses it on the bed. Can’t get Jamie’s toys out while Juice is running around; the line for hygiene has to be drawn _somewhere_.

The collar isn’t fancy, just a nylon one from the pet store. It’s green with the Stars logo printed all over it, and Jordie got a Stars tag for it, too, with 24 engraved on one side and his phone number on the other. They would never take it out of the house, but he’s seen Jamie sit on the couch after he’s come back up out of his headspace and rub his thumb over the tag, like he’s savoring the symbols, and it—it makes Jordie feel good, too. Like he’s doing this right. 

“C’mere, Jame,” he says, and Jamie moves in closer, shifting around like he’s wagging his tail while still blocking Juice back. Jordie snaps the collar on around his throat, letting his fingers brush over the nylon and soft skin, then presses a quick kiss to Jamie’s forehead. “Good boy.”

Jamie wiggles more, then lunges in to lick Jordie’s face. “No,” Jordie says, tugging at his collar until he settles back again. “No, we don’t do that.” Juice presses in close and wipes his nose and mouth on Jordie’s leg, smearing snot and drool. “Goddamn it. Both of you are nothing but trouble.”

They trail along behind him as he walks back to the living room. He grabs one of Juice’s rawhides from the floor and tosses it across the room, getting Juice’s attention and sending him bounding off to chew on it. It buys Jordie a minute to sit down on the couch and pat the cushion next to him until Jamie huffs and climbs up.

Jamie’s too big to curl up anymore, and his joints wouldn’t put up with it if he tried, so he stretches out on his stomach with his head resting on Jordie’s thigh. Jordie runs his fingers through Jamie’s hair, playing with the long section on top. If he rubs the backs of his fingers over the shaved sides, he can put Jamie almost in a trance, but he’ll save that for later. Right now he just wants some quiet time. That’s what days off are for.

He turns the TV on and flips through the channels until he finds a baseball game. Jamie perks up a little, turning his head toward the screen, and Jordie lets his hand wander down the back of Jamie’s neck. He slips his fingers under the collar, snug against Jamie’s spine.

Jamie sighs, his breath warm and damp against Jordie’s thigh. He’s slowly relaxing, the tension ebbing from his body. Jordie will know Jamie’s hit the sweet spot when he starts drooling, spit soaking into Jordie’s shorts. It’s a little gross but no more than when Juice does it, or when Jordie wakes up with a wet pillow under his own mouth. It means they’ve all really let go for a little bit. That’s easy for Juice, and Jordie sleeps like a log. But it’s harder for Jamie.

The game is slow, almost lazy, and Jordie lets his mind wander, his own breathing slowing down in time with Jamie’s.

After two or three innings, Jamie stirs, turning his head to press his mouth to Jordie’s belly. His breath puffs warm and damp through Jordie’s t-shirt and he whimpers softly, his eyes half-closed. Jordie drags his fingers through Jamie’s hair, tugging a little. “You need to go out?”

Jamie whimpers again, squeezing his eyes shut, and Jordie runs his free hand over his shoulders, tracing the heavy lines of his muscles. “Good boy,” he murmurs, sitting up slowly and dislodging Jamie’s weight. “Get up, bud.”

Jamie gets to his feet with reluctance, but once he’s up he shifts his weight from side to side, frowning a little. Jordie nods and stands up as well, wincing as his joints snap-crackle-pop. “C’mon, you. Juice, stay.”

Jamie follows him down the hall to the bathroom and whimpers again. “I know,” Jordie says. He opens the door and gestures inside. “Go on. Take care of your business.”

Jamie goes in and Jordie closes the door behind him, then leans against the wall and digs his phone out of his pocket. He has time to scroll through his junk e-mails and check Instagram before Jamie thumps against the door and he lets him out.

“Go get your buddy,” he says, pointing back toward the living room. Jamie hurries off and Jordie goes to the door into the backyard, waiting for the thunder of Juice’s paws coming from the living room. He opens the door just in time, so Juice can run right through without breaking stride. He holds it for Jamie next, then follows them out to the patio and settles into a chair. He goes back to his phone, scrolling through his sports alerts.

He can see Juice from the corner of his eye, bounding around in Texas-fried grass. He has to look up for Jamie, and finds him standing by the pool, looking down at the water longingly.

“You want to swim?” Jordie asks, keeping his voice pitched low enough to carry but not startle him. Jamie glances back at him, his eyes wide and hopeful. Jordie sets his phone down and goes over to the pool, holding his hand out to Jamie. Jamie comes to him and Jordie catches his collar for a moment, tugging it back and forth just enough to create pressure against Jamie’s skin. When Jamie’s eyelids droop and he sways on his feet, leaning toward his brother, Jordie lets go of the collar and pulls Jamie’s t-shirt up and over his head.

Jamie wiggles all over, leaning in to lick Jordie’s cheek quickly before he turns and climbs down the stairs into the pool. Jordie sits down on the pool’s edge, dangling his feet in and watching Jamie tread water. It’s already hot as hell out here; he takes his own t-shirt off and tosses it into the grass with Jamie’s.

They spend half an hour like that in the yard, with Juice wandering around sniffing things, Jamie paddling back and forth in lazy circles, and Jordie kicking his feet underwater and watching them both. It’s so calm and peaceful, it makes Jordie’s chest feel warm. He loves this; just being with his boys, at home, with nowhere to be and nothing to do.

Finally Jamie climbs out of the pool again, shaking his head and sending drops of water flying. He flops down on his belly in one of the lounge chairs, his shorts clinging to his skin and the sun lighting him up warm and golden. Jordie watches him for a moment, then gets up and walks over to his side, hissing softly at the patio tiles sending heat through the cool water on his feet.

He strokes Jamie’s back a few times, tracing his spine. “Stay,” he says, tapping Jamie’s shoulder until he huffs in acknowledgment. “Stay right here.”

Juice is happy to go in the house—Juice is pretty much always happy to do anything—but his enthusiasm fades when Jordie takes him to his crate in the back room. He gets treats when he goes in and settles down, so he does it, but the look he gives Jordie is distinctly betrayed.

“Just for a couple hours, bud,” Jordie tells him, dropping the treats through the bars of the crate. “Jamie needs undivided attention for a little while.”

He leaves Juice crunching his treats and goes back outside, where Jamie is still right where he left him. “Good boy.” Jordie ruffles his hair gently and nods at the house. “C’mon. Let’s go get your toys.”

Jamie jumps up at that, almost knocking the lounge chair over in his rush to get to the door. His eagerness makes Jordie feel a flash of guilt--had he made Jamie wait too long for this? Had he not been taking care of him right?--before he catches himself. The waiting is part of what makes it work for Jamie. He has to be good, but it’s being good defined in simple ways, and concrete ones, ones that make sense. There aren’t any layers of subtlety here. Jordie _knows_ that, because Jamie has told him, more than once. And he trusts Jamie to be honest with him about this. About everything, really, but _especially_ about this. It wouldn’t work if they didn’t trust each other completely.

Right now Jamie is looking at him impatiently, shifting his weight around in a version of a puppy’s anxious dance while he waits for Jordie to hurry up and open the patio door. Once Jordie does, Jamie plows through the living room and goes right for the stairs, hurrying up them and down the hall to Jordie’s bedroom.

By the time Jordie get there Jamie’s already on the bed, knocking the play bag around with his head and pawing at it.

“Sit,” Jamie says, snapping his fingers. When Jamie ignores him, he grabs him by the collar and hauls him back onto his knees. “I said sit. Behave yourself.”

Jamie squirms, twisting back and forth like he can evade Jordie’s hold if he tries hard enough. Jordie bops him on the nose with two fingers, a fast light tap. “No.”

If Juice has a good disappointed-and-betrayed face, Jamie’s is ten times better. He droops in Jordie’s hold, looking at him with wide, sad eyes. He even drools a little, from the corner of his mouth. Jordie loosens his grip on the collar and pets the top of Jamie’s head quickly. “That’s right. Good boy.”

Jamie wiggles his butt and settles back on his heels, watching as Jordie unzips the bag and pulls out a toy. It’s a heavy rubber chew toy, roughly bone-shaped, clean from its trip through the dishwasher after the last time they played and barely teeth-marked at all. “You want this, buddy?”

Jamie wiggles some more and huffs, opening his mouth for Jordie to set the toy inside carefully. Once he has it between his teeth he flops down on his side on the bed, pawing gently at it with both hands and chewing at it like he does with his mouth guard, only harder since he can get better leverage on this.

Jordie sits back and watches him for a few minutes, smiling to himself at how intent Jamie is on his toy. It’s different from his focus on the ice, because there isn’t any pressure here; he’s just having a good time, and chasing his good time as far as he can take it in the moment. Jordie loves giving him this, even just a small window of time to let go of everything and play.

He loves giving him more, too, though.

He shifts up the bed until he’s sitting next to Jamie and puts his hand flat on Jamie’s stomach, pushing until Jamie rolls onto his back. He still has the bone in his mouth, biting down hard on it, his eyes closing as Jordie starts rubbing slow, gentle circles on his belly.

Jamie arches up into his touch, wiggling around but careful not to dislodge Jordie’s hand. It’s just--peaceful, that’s the only word Jordie can think of for it. It’s like when they’re both half-drifted-off on the couch in front of the TV, or sitting in the backyard with beers, or together in the back of the plane on the way home after a really good game. Like they’re drifting together in a warm, safe space, and the two of them are the only things that matter there.

On the next slow circling stroke, he lets his hand drift farther down and brush over the front of Jamie’s still-damp boxers. The line of Jamie’s dick is warm and firm, lying against his thigh and just a little more than soft. Jamie makes a noise when Jordie’s hand moves over it, a low rough sound muffled by the toy.

Jordie keeps petting him for a while, taking his time, sometimes sliding his hand over Jamie’s dick and sometimes staying up on his belly. He can see Jamie swelling and thickening under the thin fabric, gradually lifting it up, until Jordie takes pity and slips his hand under the waistband to guide him up and out. 

Jamie grunts softly when his dick flops against his belly, tilting his head back and baring his throat. Jordie traces the line of the collar with the fingers of one hand and the vein along the underside of Jamie’s dick with the other. The combination makes Jamie twist and sigh, his teeth grinding away at the toy. His jaw is going to start to ache, Jordie knows; he needs to take the bone away soon. He’ll let him keep it for a few more minutes, though. Jamie thinks the sounds he makes when Jordie touches him are embarrassing, that they break the game. Jordie disagrees, but if it makes Jamie feel better to be functionally gagged, fine.

Jordie’s here to give him everything he needs.

Rubbing Jamie’s belly now includes his dick by default, part of every pass of his hand detouring to stroke or fondle the hard hot flesh. Jamie’s soft noises rise into whimpers, his hips rocking up with increasing urgency until Jordie finally just wraps his hand around him and lets him hump up into his hold. “Good boy,” he says, keeping his voice low and calm, not shaking Jamie out of the moment and his role. “Such a good boy, good puppy, my good boy.”

Jamie comes all over himself and Jordie’s hand, shuddering through it and spitting the toy out so he can gasp for breath. Jordie waits him out, keeping contact skin to skin until Jamie blinks and licks his lips and looks at him. Then he moves up and holds his hand to Jamie’s mouth, letting him lick it clean.

“Good boy,” he says again while Jamie laps at his skin. “But you’re messy now. You need a bath, eh?”

Jamie stops licking at the word _bath_ , pulling back a little, but it’s an act; he loves bathtime, loves Jordie’s hands on him under the water, slicking him with soap and then toweling him dry afterward, making sure every inch of him is clean and warm and loved. Puppies hate baths but they love attention and cuddling, and the two of them have found the balance for that by now. Or at least, they’re better at it than at the beginning, when Jamie trashed the bathroom worse than Juice ever has.

“C’mon,” Jordie says at last, moving his hand from Jamie’s mouth to his throat to tug at the collar. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Jamie follows along obediently until Jordie gets him in the bathroom and closes the door, then settles into dramatic whimpering while Jordie starts running the water. Warm but not hot, and he has to be sure he has the right body wash at hand, and a big plastic cup for rinsing Jamie off, and that a washcloth and a fluffy bathtowel are at the ready. He’s heartily sick of the whining by the time everything’s ready, which adds a little extra energy to catching Jamie with one hand on his collar and the other palming his ass and push-pulling him up and over the edge of the tub.

Once he’s in, Jamie doesn’t fight, just ducks his head and waits for Jordie to fill the cup and pour water down over his back and sides. Then over his head, two or three cups until his hair is good and wet and he can fling drops all over the place if he shakes it. It’s just like when he got out of the pool, except Jamie is more tired now, and settled deeper into the safe peaceful place he goes in his head. He doesn’t want to play or make a fuss right now, he just wants to be touched and cared for. It makes things easier, for him and for Jordie.

Jordie makes sure he’s wet all over and then pours body wash onto the washcloth, lathering it up quickly and then setting to work cleaning Jamie. It doesn’t take much, really, but he takes his time, rubbing gently and paying attention to every freckle, every scar, every bruise.

When he’s done he takes the cup again and rinses Jamie clean, taking special care with his hair and shielding his eyes with his hand. Jamie turns his face to lick Jordie’s wrist when he’s done, looking up at him with wide eyes that say--everything, maybe even too much. There’s so much love and trust and affection there, Jordie almost can’t bear it.

He kisses Jamie’s forehead softly, the only response that seems right. Words definitely wouldn’t be enough. Then he gets the bathtowel and rises to his feet, gesturing for Jamie to climb out of the tub and be dried off. This is Jordie’s favorite part, the most gentle and careful piece. It’s the start of bringing Jamie back up, too, getting him on his feet and supporting himself, even though his eyes are still sleepy and he sways a bit when Jordie lets go.

“C’mon.” Jordie snaps his fingers and leads Jamie back into the bedroom. He clears the bed off quickly, dropping the bag and chew toy on the floor and tugging the blanket back to make room for both of them to lie down. Jamie fits his body inside the curve of Jordie’s, which takes some wiggling around on both their parts, until finally Jordie wraps his arms around Jamie and they settle into slow, steady breathing together.

**

Jordie drifts off pretty fast, falling into a heavy nap with no dreams that linger when he finally starts awake again. He’s alone in the bed, on his side with his face turned against the pillow and a wet spot under his mouth. 

He sits up, scrubbing at his face with both hands, and looks around. The toy bag is sitting on the dresser, zipped up, and Jordie knows that if he goes and looks, Jamie’s collar will be neatly tucked away inside it. The chew toy isn’t there, so Jamie must be running it through the dishwasher. He’s fussy like that when he comes back up. If Jordie hadn’t been asleep in the bed, Jamie probably would have stripped the sheets and blanket, too.

Jordie goes into the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, trying to shake off the post-nap grogginess that’s clinging to him like the slight smell of his own sweat and the body wash he used on Jamie. He must be getting old, he can’t get up from a nap and hit the ground running anymore, there’s always this stupid foggy half an hour…

“Hey.”

He looks up, water running down into his beard and dripping onto his shirt. Jamie’s leaning on the doorframe, watching him with serious eyes. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jamie nods a little, his eyes darting from Jordie’s face to the mirror and back. “I’m good. Um. I’m gonna make lunch, you hungry?”

Jamie’s always fidgety like this after, Jordie reminds himself. Just wait him out. “I could eat. What are you making?”

“Sandwiches.” Jamie shrugs. “Unless you want something else.”

“That’s fine. Make me two?” Jordie turns back to the sink and splashes his face again, then reaches for a towel. “Did you let Juice out of his crate?”

“Yeah, he’s running around.” Jordie’s can’t see him through the towel, but he can hear Jamie’s cautious intake of breath. “Jor?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks for like… for letting me…” The rough exhale is frustrated, not cautious. “You know. For letting me do that. For helping me.”

“We’ve talked about this before.” He puts the towel back and turns to face Jamie. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

“I know. But… but I ask a lot. From you. I ask you to do…” Jamie stops and sighs in frustration again. “I ask too much. I know that.”

“Jamie, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. You know that. I never do stuff I don’t want to do just because you ask me.” He waits a beat, trying to catch Jamie’s eyes. “Right? When have I ever?”

A blush climbs Jamie’s face, all the way to the tips of his ears. “I guess that’s true.”

“I won’t even play chess with you. I definitely wouldn’t do this. Not unless I want to.” He reaches out and touches Jamie’s chin, tilting his head up so they’re looking at each other, finally. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Jamie nods a little and leans into his touch. “Sandwiches.”

“Yeah. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Jamie goes and Jordie leans against the counter for a moment, not so much collecting his thoughts as letting them drift into place on their own. Jamie does ask a lot, sometimes, but more than just not minding, Jordie relies on it. Wanting to take care of someone who needs him is built into who Jordie is, in the blood and the bone in a way he doesn’t know how to explain. Hopefully if he just keeps repeating it enough, Jamie will believe it.

He turns the light off and heads downstairs, where Juice will want cuddles and Jamie will want a quick touch on the arm in thanks for making lunch. They’ll spend the rest of the day together the way they do, quiet and peaceful, with all the unspoken things tucked away until next time.


End file.
